Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

Never underestimate the worth of being willing to hold.

Your.

GROUND.

He shouldered aside the stumbling bodyguard, then swept out and nearly managed to take the leader’s head—the man dodged just in time, escaping with a gash in his shoulder instead. Thundering sounds made it seem like Adolin’s soldiers were close, though it was only Gallant, brilliantly stomping loudly and letting out a scream.

Together, it was too much for the men. Adolin didn’t win.

But the Tukari lost, running toward their supply dump and the safety of the numbers they’d left behind. The leader finally joined them.

When Felt and the others arrived a few minutes later, they found a bloodied Adolin propping up Notum—dazed, but alive—surrounded by the corpses of what had once been overwhelming odds against him.

I find this difficult to do on an intrinsic level, as although I am neither Ruin nor Preservation, they make up me.

“I cannot fathom this,” Notum said, staring ahead. He didn’t blink. “I just cannot fathom this.”

Radiant had noticed that quirk in numerous spren in this world; they forgot to blink when they were distracted or overwhelmed. She shooed away the shockspren who were clustering around the spren, practically trying to climb in his lap. It was so strange for all the spren here to have physical forms; they sometimes had to be pushed away with a weapon.

Adolin’s soldiers stood in a cluster on a nearby rise, spyglasses to their eyes, keeping a cautious watch on the enemy caravan. It was—fortunately—withdrawing. Shallan’s agents were circumspectly going through the pockets of the dead, searching for clues to their origins. She spotted Vathah depositing some spheres into his own pouch, and was going to shout at him, but Veil persuaded her to hold her tongue. What else were they going to do? Leave the money?

The spheres, as expected, were dun. There was no Stormlight here. Though Godeke had inspected Adolin’s side wound and given a good prognosis, she would rather see him healed. Sepsis could claim any wound, but especially gut wounds.

In addition, Radiant suspected Notum could use a little Stormlight. Though his wounds had stopped “bleeding,” his glow had dampened noticeably, and his cheery blue-white coloring had become a dull brown-white.

He spoke in a daze. “Why … why would they do this? Humans have never … attacked spren. What would be the point, the use, the purpose? There is no honor in this!”

His Reacher companions had been released from their bonds as well. In Radiant’s experience, the bronze-colored spren tended to be quiet. These three—one male, two female, wearing simple uniforms—gave no response. They seemed as baffled as Notum.

“We need to take you to Lasting Integrity,” Adolin said, sitting on a rock nearby as Godeke bound his wound.

“No,” Notum said. “No, I am exiled.”

“You’re wounded, and we can’t guarantee those humans won’t return the moment we leave you,” Adolin said. “Exile or not, you’re coming with us.”

Notum glanced from Adolin to Radiant, then looked down. “Your honor does you credit, Prince Adolin, but you must realize my presence in your party will do you harm. I was exiled precisely because I showed you leniency in the past. If I arrive with you now, whatever the reason, it will be seen as conspiracy between us.”

“We’ll deal with that then,” Adolin said, wincing as Godeke pulled his bandage tight. “Kelek knows, it’s probably not going to matter—since they’re likely to turn us away regardless.”

“I wish that were not true, but it is,” Notum said.

Radiant joined her agents. Ishnah was speaking softly to Beryl, who sat on the ground nearby, picking through some of the loot. Beryl had thrown up several times upon first encountering the corpses, and she still seemed pallid from the sight, though her tan skin tone made that difficult to read.

“Make sure you check the insides of rings, the backs of necklaces,” Ishnah was saying. “Sometimes there are inscriptions with names.”

Beryl nodded. She kept glancing at the bloodied cloth they’d put over a dead Tukari man’s neck stump. She put her hand to her lips, pointedly turning away.

All right, Shallan admitted, if she’s the Ghostblood, she’s an incredible actor. I agree with Veil. We need to rethink our conclusion there.

Adolin stood up. “Let’s get moving,” he said to the others. “I want more space between us and the rest of those Tukari.”

It took a little time to get Notum up on one of the horses, during which Godeke—oddly—began moving among the fallen, inspecting their faces.

“Godeke?” Shallan asked.

“They’re going to be left out here to rot,” Godeke said quietly. “Those others won’t come back for them.”

“They tried to kill Notum,” Adolin said. “And me.”

“I realize this,” Godeke said. “But we don’t know their story. These could be soldiers following orders. They could be confused, mistaking the honorspren for enemies. They could have motives we can’t even guess. I want to remember them. In case no one else does.”

Edgedancers. Shallan shook her head, then checked on Adolin herself. She poked at his bloodied side. “That’s another uniform you’ve ruined.”

“Cold water and a soak in salt can get the blood out,” he said. “And I brought my sewing kit. Bet I can have it presentable with a little work.”

“Still,” she said, resting her head against his chest—careful not to touch the wound. “You need to be careful. We don’t have any Stormlight left to heal ourselves.”

“So … basically it’s how it’s been for most of my life?” Adolin said. He rested his hand on her back. “Maybe I did get carried away, Shallan. But it was good to find something I could do. Successfully, I mean. These days it’s not common that I find a place where I’m useful.”

“Adolin…” She pulled away and studied his face. He was smiling, but his tone wasn’t joking.

“Sorry,” he said. “That sounded a lot like self-pity, didn’t it? I’m just tired. Come on, we really should get going.”

That wasn’t the end of the discussion—she’d press him on it later—but for now it was probably best to do as he said. They left the corpses and trudged across the open field of obsidian toward their camp. About halfway back, they met the Cryptics—save Pattern—and the Stump with her spren, hiking slowly.

Arshqqam took in the sight, then nodded in satisfaction and turned to start hiking back. Fortunately, Notum did seem to be looking better already.

“Your deadeye,” he said, moving up beside Adolin. “How did you train her to fight for you like that?”

Shallan glanced at Maya, who was riding on Adolin’s Ryshadium. Shallan hadn’t seen it, but she’d heard. The dead spren had picked up a sword and fought beside Adolin.

“I didn’t train her, Notum,” Adolin said. “She chose to help me.”

“Deadeyes can’t make choices,” Notum said. “They don’t have the presence of mind for it. I know this personally. My own father is a deadeye, cared for in the fortress now.”